Ramblin' Kid said, handing the envelope to him. "It's for you."

"My Gawd!" Old Heck exclaimed, "it's a telegram!"

The cowboys resting in the shade of the bunk-house rose to their feet,
sauntered over and surrounded Old Heck and the Ramblin' Kid, commenting
meanwhile, frankly and caustically, on the fagged condition of the
broncho Skinny was on:

"Must 'a' been scared, the way you run that horse," Parker, range
foreman of the Quarter Circle KT, a heavy-built, sandy-complexioned man
in the forties, remarked witheringly to Skinny as the cow-puncher
climbed from the saddle and slid to the ground.

"He's mine, I reckon," Skinny retorted, "an' I figure it's nobody's
darn' business how I ride him--anyhow I brought Old Heck a telegram!" he
added triumphantly.

"Blamed if he didn't!" Charley Saunders, with a trifle of awe, pretended
or real, in his tone, said. "It sure is!"

"My Gawd!" Old Heck repeated, slowly turning the envelope over in his
hand, "it's a telegram! Wonder what it's about?"

"Why don't you open it and see?" Parker suggested.

"Yes, open th' blamed thing and find out," Skinny encouraged.

"I--I've a notion to," Old Heck whispered.